


Leave Your Chains Behind

by Haroji



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Jaime/Brienne Appreciation Week, Light Angst, Moral Lessons, POV Jaime Lannister, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Prophecy, Redemption, Sad, Time Travel Fix-It, Valonqar Prophecy, Well that was a fuckin lie, Yeah this is turning out really angsty sorry lol, kind of, mostly not tho
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-03-06 09:13:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18848020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haroji/pseuds/Haroji
Summary: The ink isn't dry, nor is it spent. Jaime is given a second chance to undo his bad decisions. Fate is eternal, and he is lucky enough to rewrite his.





	1. the many-faced and the faceless

**Author's Note:**

> So uh i haven't actually watched ep 5 yet because im not stable enough emotionally lol, so sorry if this is full of inaccuracies! Besides that, enjoy ^^

Jaime was suffocating.

His last memory of light was of a rapidly closing gap as the red keep collapsed above him and his sister. Soon all had faded into one homogeneous darkness and he had lost all bearings.

He was surrounded by voices, screams, the sounds of bones crunching and flesh ripping. When he tried to lift his arms to cover his ears, he could do so freely and without pain, almost as if the coffin of rubble and all memory of it had dissipated from around him- he felt warm flesh on his right side rather than cool metal from his golden hand. 

He saw faces. Twisted and contorted, with uncountable eyes, belonging to bodies grotesque beyond description, without any remnants of an even remotely humanoid shape. The images around him shifted constantly - as soon as he thought he had wrapped his head around one it quickly morphed into something even more incomprehensible. 

He realised he hadn't breathed in gods know how long. He wasn't sure if he was alive,or dreaming, or in hell- to his surprise he didn’t notice any tightness in his chest. He opened his mouth to inhale and a liquid as thin as water and as metallic as blood filled his lungs. It didn't take him long to realise after that he was drowning.

_ Swim. _

He heard a voice from above him. It would surely come from wherever the surface of the treacherous sea was, but despite being as softly uttered as a whisper it ringed in his ears like whalesong. 

_ Swim. _

“I don't think I can,” Jaime was surprised to find that he could speak as clearly as ever. “I'm so tired.”

This was true. He felt as if he carried a mountain on his back and as time passed Jaime found it harder and harder to even imagine moving. He felt as if all the muscles in his body had dissolved. 

_ You have to. _

There was something about the voice that was eerily persuasive. Its musical flow warmed his belly like sweet summer wine and he felt his skin buzz, and he knew he had to do what the voice was commanding of him. 

_ Swim. _

The warmth in his stomach spread to his legs, and Jaime found he could kick his feet, however extremely minutely. The warmth pulsated throughout him and he kicked again and again, each time growing stronger, until he felt the water push against his uplifted face- he was swimming. The darkness was impenetrable and Jaime's only guide was the source of the voice, now silent. As he swam the figures around him groped and grasped at his limbs, trying to pull him down, but he shook them off like flies off a mare. The voice had given him an indescribable sort of power.The sea had somehow thickened into a tar-like liquid and the darkness hugged and crushed him from all sides but to his surprise Jaime had no difficulty fighting against it. 

A hand reached into the water from above. He was now mere feet from the surface. It was a stark white colour like Jaime had never seen before, completely visible in the impossibly murky waters despite not emitting any light. He extended his invisible left hand, accustomed to it after living as a cripple, and was hauled out of the water in a split second, but the darkness lingered.

When Jaime awoke he was lying face down on a beach. The sand was warm and silken to the touch, and when Jaime lifted his head he realised the beach was the same stark white as the hand that had pulled him out, glittering like a billion gemstones in the sun. The sea, a few feet away, was a black so black it seemed to expand to swallow him whole. 

He stumbled to his feet and looked down at himself. His body was in perfect condition- if anything, peak condition. His skin was as smooth as a pampered baby and his right hand was restored as if nothing had ever happened to it. He was wearing simple linen garments in nude tones, completely unblemished, every fibre woven to perfection, however his feet remained bare as he burrowed his toes into the warm sand.

He raised his gaze to look at his surroundings. The beach expanded to his right as far as the eye could see, and the black sea to his left seemed to engulf the landscape. The sun was shining above him but its light danced in the air with colours Jaime had never imagined or ever be able to describe, shimmering and swirling like glass. Jaime spotted what he assumed to be the owner of the hand, watching him from a few feet away. Indeed, this mysterious figure had the same white hand, but as Jaime took in the phantoms appearance it shapeshifted into someone entirely different- every time his eyes flicked away from something the figure changed, much like the spirits in the sea. Despite this every face the creature manifested itself with Jaime found strangely familiar, as if for the past 40 years he had dreamt of the faces or seen them in passing crowds. 

Jaime realised he had no bearing at all of how much time had passed since he found himself in the sea – it could have been seconds, it could have been hundreds or thousands of years, it was impossible to tell. The last memory of light he had before the beach as death rained from above felt like it had happened a hundred lifetimes ago. 

_ Walk with me _ , the figure commanded, and so Jaime obeyed. And they talked- talked for what could've been millions of years or just an hour, about the world and its nature, desire, regret, war, beauty, ignorance. Every time the figure opened its mouth Jaime felt the same warmth engulf him and the strongest replenishment he had ever felt. The beach was endless, with no end in sight- no mountains, no grasslands, just the white and black up to the horizon.

Eventually, the two sat down on the beach, and Jaime realised how tired he was. His companion seemed to understand as he instantly suggested drinking the water before him. Jaime was wary but found the voice too sickly sweet to question, and so he cupped his hands, creating a pool in his palms and drank from them. The liquid burned like a spirit while also sending a chill throughout his body, however immediately after he swallowed he felt strength course through his veins – a pure type of strength, not the type of strength men are accustomed to, the strength to pursue selfish desires. 

_ That is the sea of the drowned. It is where wicked souls go to rest, forever fighting the water around them. They take on the form of their sins in life. _

Jaime regarded the water. Waves lapped lightly against the shore, however within the deeps spirits squirmed their mangled bodies. And yet, even in the sight of such a terrifying thing, Jaime felt at peace, as if all need for fear had left him. 

“Why aren’t I in there?” Jaime's voice was almost a whisper.

_ Your story isn’t over yet, Jaime. _

The figure gently took his recovered hand from his side. The texture of its skin was bizarre; as silken as water and as biting as fire or ice, though the sensation was pleasant. It guided him away from the water, and as they walked the snow-like sand rose in vast columns, Forming intricate arches and galleys and staircases, and as the substance turned blood-red Jaime recognised it as the Red Keep, missing its largest dome top. He looked around him- the city was a sea of ash and rubble and fire, smoke dancing solitarily towards the sky, mingling with the kaleidoscopic light of the realm. 

And then he saw  _ her _ . A head taller than himself, with armour like obsidian shimmering ethereally, and once closely cropped hair like honey and milk dancing around her jaw. A heavy pain spread from his chest outwards, for the first time since he had laid in the Red Keep- as he watched her walk, her back was unusually hunched,her feet almost dragging on tiles, as if she had forgotten how to hold herself with pride and precision. He felt her burden on himself and found himself slumping. 

And her eyes oh, her  _ eyes _ \- the purest, sapphire blue, glittering like the seas of Tarth with a melancholy beauty, brighter than every colour in the sky. They shone, overpowering everything around her, dying stars on a clear night. As she walked towards him he inhaled sharply.

_ She can't see you. _ The figure beside him seemed to read his mind.  _ You are but a shadow now.  _

She walked right past him, collapsed on the first step to the Red Keep and immediately crouched forward, burying her face in her hands. He longed to reach for her, wrap her in his arms, tell her that she survived and that she’s safe and that’s all that mattered, but he knew that wasn’t true. He had betrayed her and left her scarred, and as he observed her he felt guilt fester in his stomach. What is life, what is survival when you lose all but your duty?

_ It isn’t too late. _

He looked up at the spirit besides him. A smile flickered on its face, full of forgiveness and a paternal sort of kindness. 

“What do you mean?”

_ You’ll see.  _

And with that it held his hand again and raised it to the spirits forehead. His finger brushed against skin and all turned to a blinding, pure light.


	2. the last night

_Jaime squinted as the light swallowed his peripherals. His eyes slowly adjusted and he saw flames emerging from the blanched environment. He was practically standing in the flames, the edges licking at him like serpents, but to his surprise the sensation of the heat was tolerable, almost pleasant. Slowly the flames tainted the bleached sky with plumes of black smoke, and all was dark again._  
 _A white figure appeared in the distance, shining brighter than the flames themselves. As the figure approached Jaime recognised it to be a woman, with colourless hair cascading around her chest and skin like paper. Where her face should’ve been was a blank, empty space- so perfect and undefined it almost appeared to be like bare canvas._  
 _The woman raised her hands and the flames roared. As she reached towards the sky the flames brushed against the top of the world, filled with wrath and passion. As the flames swelled the heat grew and grew until it seared Jaimes skin, and he felt the energy given to him by the sea of the damned seep from his body. From the music of the flames came the kissing of steel and the screams of children. As Jaime swallowed a mouthful of smoke, all turned black, leaving him and the woman alone in an endless void._  
 _Suddenly the woman fell to her knees. Flames emerged from her chest, dancing around steel, and as the weapon was drawn from her breast crimson blood blossomed across her snowy skin. The woman fell and her light faded,and jaime was left in darkness._  
Jaime realised his eyes were closed. When he opened them, he was in a dimly lit bedchamber. Candlelight flickered on the ceiling above him, waning - it was late at night, possibly early in the morning.   
He tore the spread off his body. His newly-restored right hand was replaced by a stump, and the pampered skin he felt earlier was now callous, rough and bruised. A wolf howled outside his window.  
He was in the north.   
He jolted upright with a new sort of desperate energy. To his left, Brienne slept - safe and happy, her hair much shorter than when he’d last seen her. Her body slowly rose and fell under the bedfurs, the torments of the world erased in blissful sleep. Jaime exhaled with relief, only then realising he had been holding his breath. He thought to himself this moment was more beautiful and more precious than anything he had witnessed in the afterlife.  
He was back. Back where he _belonged._  
Jaime could’ve dismissed his experience as a dream- after all, it is the nature of dreams to create an abstract sense of time, and for all he knew he could’ve completely imagined the past few weeks and the unknown amount of time he spent in that mysterious realm. Yet something told him it was real- a conviction as deeply rooted as he knew his name was Jaime Lannister, or that the sun sets in the west.   
He had been given a second chance, and he had no idea what to do with it. Of course, he knew what the ends were- undo his betrayal and undo his cowardice, but it was the means to that end that he struggled with.   
Restless with turbulent thought, he stepped out of bed, seeking fresh air to refresh his mind. The floor beneath his feet was warm. He had been told Winterfell had been built over a hot spring, with its water coursing through the castle's walls and floors like blood through a body- the dead may have haunted the stronghold, but the castle was still living as much as he was. It was certainly a comfort in the harsh, unforgiving northern winter. He strode towards the dining table by the hearth, as quietly as possible, where a thick fur robe was draped over a chair- in the half-light, it could almost be mistaken for a bear, hunched over.   
He draped the furs over his shoulders and grabbing a half-empty wineskin from the table, opened the bedchamber's door. A powerful, bitter draft engulfed him as he stepped out into the night and he tucked his hands into his armpits to ward off the cold. He descended the stairs to the main courtyard. The night was deadly quiet and Jaime basked in the cool, fern-scented air. Walking into the center he undid the cap of his wineskin single-handedly and took a sip. The liquid softly burned his insides and warmed him from within. He took in his surroundings with a sort of gratefulness tinged with guilt.  
Candlelight from other chambers twinkled from above - after facing the horrors of the dead, undisturbed sleep was a luxury few could afford. A soft wind serenaded the open space, and the stables were empty. Crusted blood was splattered on the grey bricks of the castle; the northern forces had left with Jon although the clean-up had not been finished- Jaime deduced he must’ve woken up 2 weeks before leaving for Kings Landing.   
Of all people, he, he thought to himself, was the most undeserving of a second chance. He had accepted upon leaving Winterfell he couldn’t be redeemed- his sins were too significant and uncountable and there was no way he could make up for his wrongdoings. When he had betrayed the north, he had given up on his fate being anything other than dying in his sisters arms. Not because he wanted to go that way- he and his sister had entered the world together, so he knew they must leave it together as well. He wasn’t good enough for life without her. He wasn’t good enough for Brienne.   
But there were powers in the south, powers that endangered much more than him and Brienne, and it seemed to Jaime it was his duty to prevent the death and destruction, a duty he had previously failed to fulfill. As he pondered the image of the white woman with flames and blood bursting from her chest flickered in his mind.There were powers a lot more deadly and unforgiving than Cersei, and nothing to check them except himself.  
And yet he knew leaving would mean betraying Brienne. He would almost certainly die- if not while attempting to fulfill his duty then in the bloody aftermath as others scramble for power and justice. He felt a pang as he recalled her solemn figure, hunched in despair at the feet of the Red Keep. He would be walking into the mouth of the beast, but it was all he could do.   
But he also had to live. If not for his own sake, then for Brienne.   
Jaime remembered the blank pages of the white book. He had spent his life in pursuit of honour, of legacy, of titles and songs, but after quite literally facing death he realised how trivial it all was. Years will waste away those pages and the stories they contain will be forgotten- legacy doesn't exist in eternity, and that's what he had found himself concerned with.  
Jaime could never imagine he could ever mean so much to someone as he did to Brienne. He didn’t believe it himself, until his encounter in that dream-like realm- in that moment he felt every inch of her grief in himself and it became undeniable. People had borne love for him, yes - he was his father's favourite son and he knew he meant a lot to tyrion, but that was more in the way a man loves his heir and a grotesque sibling loves pity. He always knew his sister never loved him as he did her, as much as he suppressed it. To her, he was not much except a tool to get what she wants, her sword hand she could not bear herself because of her sex. Their love was like a poison, a curse. Jaime felt he was always bound to her, whether he liked it or not.   
But Brienne was different- Brienne had honour and a loving disposition, and Jaime felt even if they were seperated by all the seas in the world, if every sign was signalling for them to part ways, he would always long to find her, be near her, and her to him. The days he had spent on the kings road and in the capital were excruciatingly long without her- something he had at the time blamed on the cruel winter and the monotony of horseback travel. But cersei was like a weed, and he had become completely ensnared in her thorny tendrils, and he knew he could never rest until he took her out and the malice she inspires, root and stem.   
But to do such a thing would be to lose everything he lived for half a world away. His mind was split in two- his duty to the realm and himself, and his attachment to Brienne.

“What are you doing?”

Jaime hadn’t realised he had been pacing anxiously in circles until he heard Briennes voice from above and immediately stopped. Her figure was a silhouette against the soft light from the open bedchamber door, yet he could still identify the shape of a thin, black nightgown. He silently cursed himself for his blunderous and obvious movement. She had always been a light sleeper.

“Are you not cold?” He said with a tinge of worry.

She didn’t answer- instead, she walked down the steps to the courtyard and joined him. She had a playful and unconcerned look on her face and her eyes sparkled. Jaime couldn’t remove the image of how she had stood in the same black gown the night he left, her face screwed up with grief. He couldn’t bear to see her like that again.

“No, I’m not. You haven’t answered my question.”

Jaime exhaled and looked down at his wineskin. “I needed some fresh air.”

Brienne walked over to him and jaime, unsure how to interact with her, kept his eyes pointed downwards. She gently placed her hands on his shoulders. His heart bounced against his ribcage.

“Come back to bed. You’ll catch a cold out here.”

Jaime looked around, his eyes still averted, trying to find words. Her voice was so soft, so loving, and as he stood there, so close to her, the prospect of leaving her seemed like an impossibility.

“I...Brienne, I….” He choked as a lump formed in his throat and finally met her eyes, wrought with concern. She must’ve seen the pain in his eyes as she drew him close into an embrace. Jaime found himself praying that time would stop. Praying that they would be engulfed in the moment, and his sister and the war and the white woman would just disappear, and everything would be clear and happy again.

“Its ok. Its ok.” She didn’t question him, and only held him in gentle, loving arms. Her heartbeat was slow and steady, and as Jaime pressed his head against her chest he swore to himself he would never let that sweet rhythm silence itself.   
He had to stay here, with her. He couldn’t bear to leave his heart behind and enveloped in bliss, he unfurled himself from her arms, covered her hand with his own and gave her a weak smile.  
“Come on. You must be tired.”

And so they lay in each others arms that night. He watched as brienne fell asleep, her worry lines invisible, and tried not to acknowledge this was probably the last night he’d spend with her- for a while if he was lucky, for eternity if he wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lot shorter than I originally intended. Unfortunately im still having problems with the plot of the fic so im not happy enough with what would be part 2 of chapter 2 to publish it. So i'll be uploading part 2 as chapter 3 instead, which will be out later this week ^_^


	3. The Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime trades a vow for a vow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so brief! I was going to include this as part 1 of the third chapter but I thought I might as well publish it now instead of making ppl wait for when I'm finished. School is very time-consuming right now but next week I'll have a lot more free time to write : )

The morning came more swiftly than Jaime would have liked.

A harsh wintry light burnt through the curtains. He sat up wearily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The space next to him was empty- for a moment his heart dropped into his stomach. Had he imagined last night? Was Brienne long gone, or worse?

Waking up, he exhaled softly and chided himself. Brienne had training drills at first light, which was way past. The last time he slept in Winterfell felt like an age ago, and he still had to wear back into his old routine. He had virtually forgotten that the people around him saw him as a betrayer, so when eyes burned into the back of his skull as he walked towards the mess hall after dressing he was almost taken aback. But of course, this was something he had previously grown accustomed to- the stares and the whispers as the residents of the castle desperately tried to peel back the layers of deception to see what was hidden underneath. Kingslayer; man without honour.

There was one person who looked at him differently. Looked at him as if she didn’t have to constantly second-guess his motives. Someone who trusted him.

He trudged through the courtyard, the fresh snow crunching beneath his feet. The sound of clashing wooden swords and the twang of bowstrings filled the air, but Brienne was nowhere in sight. He frowned.

Jaime caught a flash of red in his peripheral and instinctively turned towards it. Sansa was standing above him on the balcony overlooking the courtyard, staring at him with uncanny fixation. Her blue eyes cut into him like diamonds- Jaime almost covered himself in shame, and despite still wearing her mask of stony despondency and indifference, she practically burned with rage.

Sansa had always been cold towards him, but this was different. _Did she know?_

Her jaw clenched and she turned away, not averting her eyes until the last second - almost beckoning him. She was walking north, and there was only one thing in that direction.

The broken tower looked quite different in mid-winter. Barely-blemished snow coated the lawn and clung beneath the eroded bricks of the building, with tendrils of ice seeping from the stone. The window at its peak stared him down at him, judging him for his sins.

Sansa was already standing at its feet and looking up, deep in thought. When he approached she didn’t turn to face him. He didn’t deserve that dignity.

“I should’ve known.” Her voice was flat and harsh. She took a long and purposeful breath.

“I should’ve known you would do nothing but hurt and destroy and betray when you pushed my brother from that window.” She turned to face him. Her mouth was twisted with distaste, overflowing with venom.

Jaime opened his mouth to speak, but Sansa cut in. “I’ve been talking to him. Bran. I don’t imagine I have to tell you what he told me.”

Truthfully, Jaime had no idea what she knew or what she didn’t, but he didn’t dare question her. He took a deep breath.

“Lady Sansa, I vowed to fight for the living. I intend to honour that vow. Even if it’s to my last breath. The Night King may be gone but the war with Death is not over.” Sansa raised an eyebrow. “And...there are some things in my power only. I think if we really want to win this war, it is necessary for things to be done that only I can do.” He spoke deliberately and slowly, careful to choose his words appropriately so as to not give anything away- after all, he would be deemed a madman if he spoke the entire truth.

Sansa stared at him in silence, before scoffing and turning her head away. “You really think that highly of yourself? You think only you can stop this war, and you must go on this noble quest south to do so? You’re not a hero, Ser Jaime, I think we both know that.” She looked him in the eye, with an expression that read _tell me the truth_.

“People will die. Thousands, millions. I wouldn’t blame you for locking me up and throwing away the key, and I will only go by your leave, but you have to know what’s at stake.”

Sansa frowned in return.

“Maybe you’re right.” _She definitely isn’t._ “Maybe I’m right. Maybe i’d be useless, maybe i’d betray you. But, my Lady, I will tell you the truth.”

She gave him a deadpan look.

“I don’t swear myself to any sides. I don’t lend my allegiance, I don’t fight for the North or my family. I fight for the living. I fight for the innocent. Countless lives will be lost if the throne ends up in the wrong hands.” He tried as much as possible to communicate with his eyes, but Sansa looked back, confused.

He lowered his voice, pushing on. “You and me both know Cersei isn’t the only danger in the south. That’s something we have in common. Others may be too stupid or too loyal to see it, but I know you’re not.” She narrowed her eyes, a muscle working in her jaw, as if squinting would make his words and intentions clearer.

A wind flitted through the sparse trees around them. After a long pause, she spoke again. “Ser Jaime, you will fight in my service. You will swear an oath to do as I bid and protect the realm.” Jaime sighed with relief and stepped back, unsheathing his sword to make the vow, but Sansa spoke again. “And if you betray me, I will have your head. The North remembers. I remember.” She spoke with over articulation, every word pointed like a dagger.

Jaime nodded and nervously tugged at his collar with his golden hand. . “I know. And I swear it.” He knelt and lay his sword at her feet. She was silent as he bent his head low, reveling the moment.

“Rise.” He got to his feet and gazed absently into empty space. “You must promise me something too.”

Sansa laughed sardonically. “I don’t believe I owe you anything.”

“I respect that. But I know you care about Brienne.” He winced as he said her name, fully aware of the pains that were to come. “She will want to follow me. You must order her not to. Cersei will find out about her, if she doesn’t already know, and will have her killed. You have to keep her safe. And she can only be safe here.”

Something changed in Sansa’s face. Her brow loosened, and she looked at Jaime with an expression which almost resembled pity, or respect. He realised just how much his desperation was revealed in his tone of voice.

“You know I can’t do that. There’s a war go-”

“You must.” Jaime cut in forcefully, forgetting himself. He softened his voice respectfully. “Forgive me, but you must. It’s all that matters to me.” His voice cracked and he swallowed, suppressing the dull ache in his chest climbing towards his throat. He blinked back the burning in his eyes. “I can’t lose her.” _Not again._

The pity became more apparent on Sansa’s face as she searched his own with confliction. A tense silence lingered around them. Finally she set her jaw and nodded, looking down. “I will.”

Jaime felt as if he was emerging from a powerful torrent of water, but kept his face passive and clenched his jaw. “I will do my duty, Lady Sansa.” . Giving her a nod indicating a new level of respect, he turned and walked through the archway to the main courtyard and headed towards the mess hall. Sansa lingered on the lawn a while longer, deep in contemplation.


	4. tears and blood are much of the same thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh im so sorry this is so late! Tbh i just wasn't feeling the story that much, but I'll hopefully wrap this up within a fortnight ^^

The night was quiet and still. It was a sort of somber, chilling ambience, but easier to face than songs and laughter. Jaime stood alone in the courtyard, staring pensively at the great hall. A warm light flooded a sector of grass, frost twinkling like embers. Even though the great castle was largely abandoned, the building sung with loud banter and drums of flagons on oak tables- almost everyone in the castle ate communally now in an intimate bubble of warmth and conversation. The noise helped the dead seem further away.

  


The days were cold, yes - the sky would be a sheet of grey and the snow would wander in the air, but occasionally the sun would emerge from the clouds and bathe the castle in a warm light and the snow would melt before it could settle. Even mere weeks after the long night signs of spring were easy to see, with blushing snowdrops budding in the godswood and birds trilling and chirping. At night, however, snow set and stacked layer after layer and frost would encrust where the snow couldn’t reach, and the winds grew stronger and more bitter, battling ferociously for reign of the open spaces of the stronghold. Jaime would’ve wrapped himself in furs, but as he stood there in a simple leather tunic the physical sensation of the air biting his skin was comforting, in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on. 

  


He was due to leave at daybreak, with Sansa’s leave, of course. He had been given a fair amount of provisions for the following weeks - dried meat, bread, winter-berry preserves and riding furs- ironically, he thought to himself, he was better off now than if his plot hadn’t been discovered. The moon would pass over the sky and the winds would keep singing in those vast halls, and a soon as a red sun peeps over the eastern hills, it would all be over. 

He couldn’t sleep away those hours. He disliked the north, but any place with her in it would be as good as home, and he had grown to appreciate the relative quiet and simple stone towers and galleys. As folly as it was, he couldn’t help but feel drawn to live out his last taste of freedom and happiness before another plunge into darkness. He decided to go for a walk around the castle- say his goodbyes, as it were. 

  


Beyond a carved archway a staircase, lit only by a single torch, wound up a small tower to floors of narrow bookcases crammed into every corner; one of these floors branched off to a vast corridor lined with numerous archways, equally ornate as the entrance, overlooking the godswood about a perch above the forest floor. To his luck, the moon was full and the sky was clear, so a faint blue light illuminated the staircase from windows as Jaime climbed the tower and entered the hallway. 

From above, the trees almost looked as if they were breathing as their leaves danced in the wind. A weirwood tree rose above the roof of the forest at its centre, its blood-red leaves tainted blue in the moonlight. Jaime stood there for a while, pondering tales of the old gods, leaning on one of the archways, silence only disturbed by the whistling of the wind and his own breathing. It was truly an enchanting sight to behold, and as he overlooked the forest he became more and more aware of a sense of hauntedness about the forest.

When the moon had risen high in the sky, Jaime heard slow and heavy footsteps behind him. Podrick strolled towards him, hands furled in his cloak. 

“I’ve been looking for you, Ser.”

Jaime looked at him. He was smiling, a tinge of concern in his eyes, as he leant against the opposite side of the archway.

He huffed brusquely through his nose. “I needed some quiet is all.”

“You weren’t at dinner.”

“No..” He met his eyes. “How’s Brienne?” Jaime asked quietly.

“Worried,” Podrick sighed and eyed him. “You haven’t spoken to her all day, she thinks you’re avoiding her, Ser.”

Jaime crossed his arms, shrugging tightly, suddenly self-conscious. His gaze wandered across the treetops, as if looking the squire in the eye would reveal his secrets. “I’m having a hard time facing her, if I’m honest.”

“Why? You’re not...” 

He sighed shakily. “I...I have to…” Words were lost on him.

“You have to what?” Podrick urged on.

“Something’s changed, Podrick.” He finally looked at him. “I can’t say what happened, but Brienne is in danger. We’re all in danger. And…”

His tongue hid behind his teeth like a scared child, but he pushed himself onwards. “...I fear I have to leave. Leave her behind.”

Podrick eyed him, confused. Had he really ever believed in him?

“You can’t mean….”

“I don’t want to do it.” Jaime cut in. “So spare your lecture. I want to stay behind, more than anything. But it isn’t up to me. Not anymore.”

Podrick was silent for a moment, before scoffing incredulously, an undertone of hurt in his voice. “Of course it is. What do you mean you have to leave? There’s always a choice, Jaime.”

Jaime looked wistfully over the grounds again, and beyond, further south, where his fate awaited him. “Yes. There is.” He spoke softly. “I can choose to stay here, let her die, let everyone die. Or I can do my best to stop that from happening.”

“Ser, what are you talking about? There’s something you’re hiding, tell me what it is.”

Jaime stared at him for a moment. He desperately wanted to, and maybe if he did Brienne would find out and know he hadn’t chosen his sister over her after all. But he couldn’t, not if he wanted his plan to work and her to be safe, and his secret weighed him down with grief and guilt. He got to his feet. “Just…” He put his golden hand on Podricks shoulder. “Keep her safe, for me, please.”

And with that, he left podrick alone in the darkened hallway. 

\---

Jaime had always found the godswood unsettling. The trees drew a dark canopy over the forest floor, twisted and ancient and groaning in the wind. Sometimes the air flitting through leaves sounded so much like a voice, an intimate whisper, Jaime would turn around to make sure he was alone. And, of course, there was the weirwood tree- its unnaturally colourless trunk and leaves the colour of blood, and the swollen weeping face cut into the wood, crying with scarlet sap. Jaime could understand why the northerners considered the tree sacred; it had an uncanny sense of life and sentiency, as if any moment it could spring into action or open its bloodied eyes- when its branches creaked in the winds Jaime jumped, before reproving himself for his paranoia. 

Nevertheless, there he sat for the rest of the night, deep in foggy thought. Something had changed since he last entered the woods; the presence of the weirwood was more consolidating than unsettling, as if it held within the spirit of the many-faced god he had seen 2 nights ago. The image of the face moving no longer inspired fear, but comfort, in a peculiar way.

Before he knew it, a chorus of birds began as the world woke up, and a curtain of soft light rose from the horizon. He felt a pit of dread in his stomach, and standing up tried to breathe through it. It didn’t work. 

He walked deliberately slowly back towards the courtyard, soaking in the peace and quiet of the woods. He wished he could stay. He wished he could be here forever, and the world would just disappear, and he’d be left with nothing but the castle and Brienne. He had briefly fantasised of settling down on Tarth with her, where the sea glittered enigmatically and darkness and fear seemed like impossibilities, though that was not essential. She was essential. 

The north was a grim place, but over the course of the past weeks it had, for him, procured a symbolic significance to his brief happiness and growth. He couldn’t help but feel as if he was leaving behind everything positive in his life. 

As he drew closer to the courtyard, through an archway and into the open space, the tightness in his chest grew and grew until he was surprised he could still breathe. There his mount was waiting for him, a modest pack buckled to its saddle, ready to carry him off to his doom. 

He found himself looking up at their bedchamber door. A light was still flickering within. She was there, so close, probably the closest to her he’d be for a long time. If only I could see her, look upon those eyes, one last time…

  


Before he could check himself, he was ascending the steps to the balcony and then slowly, soundlessly, pushing the door open. His heart was thumping so audibly it was almost fit to burst from his chest. The bed was empty; confused, he pushed the door open further. 

When he saw her, all air escaped his lungs. It wasn’t anything new, but the sight of her and the implications made him feel as if he was half flying, half sinking. She sat crouched on a bearskin rug in front of the fireplace, staring into the flames, still dressed in her linens from the previous day. Her usually swept-back hair fell unkempt around her face. She did not turn to face him, or even acknowledge in any way that someone had entered the room. 

He walked towards her, slowly, gently, as if approaching a scared animal, and sunk onto the carpet beside her, his eyes fixed on her all the while. She finally turned to look at him, and the panic and dread in his chest was flooded with grief. 

Her eyes were red and puffy, droopy with lack of sleep, and the familiar light was gone. She did not smile, or cry, or frown - just gave him a cold, dead look, full of apathy, full of exhaustion. 

“Do you really have to leave?” As she spoke, she sounded like a scared and confused child, vulnerable, with all her strength spent. Her voice was raw and hoarse, and as she looked at him, it all became too much and he collapsed onto her shoulder. He wrapped her snugly in his arms, never wanting to let go, and wept into her tunic. Her hand met his own, wrapped around her shoulder and rubbed his fingers gently. 

He raised his face and kissed her, hard. She opened her mouth in surprise, and she gently pushed back, salty tears mingling on his tongue. Her lips were chapped and rough, but Jaime could wish for nothing more. 

They parted, breathless, and Jaime cupped her chin in his hand. She looked at him with the same familiar gaze, full of admiration, her brilliant blue eyes glinting with tears in the warm light; he, of all people, least deserved to be looked at like that. If her face was the last thing he would see, he would be more than content. 

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he whispered silkily with a teasing, bittersweet smile despite himself. 

A blush erupted on her face and she smirked. “Don’t get yourself killed, Jaime.” she spoke sternly, like a mother scolding a child for muddying their knees, and Jaime couldn’t help but grin at the Brienne he knew peeking through. Stroking her lips softly with his thumb, he explored her face, taking in every detail, every part he loved desperately, so they would never fade from his mind's eye. 

He got to his feet and a lump re-emerged in his throat. They were both teary eyed at this point, and as he walked away Brienne buried her face in her arms. Leaving her, like this especially, felt impossible. 

At the door frame, he stopped, a rapid beating in his ears. “...Brienne?”

“Mm?” Her voice was broken and she hid her face behind her arms- he wanted nothing more than to run over to her, take her in his arms again, tell her it would all be okay and she would be happy. He wished he could be with her, hold her, for as long as he still drew breath. But for now…words would have to do. 

“I love you.” 

She looked up abruptly, eyes wide open and blushing, and opened her mouth to speak, but Jaime didn’t give her the chance. He shut the door behind him and as if in a trance walked back down to the courtyard. Then he realised what was happening, and collapsed into the snow, retching with sobs, as the dreaded sun rose above him.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol i hope that was at least somewhat more satisfying than dumb & dumbers butchery... next chapter the plot will really begin to kick off ;D


	5. the sun just keeps on rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne is horribly apathetic. Sansa gives her a task.

Brienne woke up on the floor of her bedchamber and exasperatedly huffed into the furs beneath her. The smell of him lingered still on the bedsheets, inspiring an uncontrollable yearning Brienne couldn’t bear to face.

She tried, for a moment, to get back to sleep, but her body buzzed in protest. She had no idea how much time had passed since Jaime left- that night she collapsed by the hearth, and by the time she woke up the sun was setting. She couldn’t possibly force herself to get up, go outside where the lack of his presence was so painfully obvious it felt like a hole was being drilled into her chest, so she went back to sleep.

She had been stuck in this cycle for 3 days, at least; sleep washed away all her problems, and her dreams took her far, far away from the  _ damned  _ castle. She would often use the aid of alcohol to help her drift off again (she had never been much of a drinker: it dulls the senses, after all, but she no longer feared vulnerability, and almost welcomed it). As she sat up her limbs were restless and energetic but her mind still foggy with exhaustion; an exhaustion that rest could not even hope to penetrate.

She could hear the noisome bustle of the castles numerous occupants going about their business in the courtyard beyond her wall. No matter how much her world had ended, she thought, the sun just keeps on rising, and people just keep on living.

Giving up on solitude, she got up and walked over to a polished piece of silver across the room. Her reflection stared back at her, unrecognisable: her hair was toiled and inflated, dark with grease, her eyes dead and flat, her face and shoulders sagging with a pain so burdensome. She splashed water on her hair and slicked it back and started prodding and pulling at her face in an attempt to recover some sort of indication of livelihood. Nothing changed and the same old ghost stood before her.

Jaime leaving would be awful, no matter what. But his last words to her had made it a million times more painful. In that moment an image of a future, wrapped in each other’s arms on the yellow sand of Tarth, watching their children run around gleefully flickered in her mind, only to be extinguished by fear and misery as soon as that door shut. To have hope of a future, of happiness, only for it to be torn from you is a million times worse that having nothing at all, she had decided.

As she dressed, strapping a baldric over her doublet, she tried desperately to submerge the thought of him, but no matter what she did his face like a piece of driftwood only kept floating to the surface. Her chest grew tighter and tighter and she breathed miserably through feeling of her heart being weighed down with lead.

She took her sword and opened the door. A powerful light stung at her eyes, and she squinted as they adjusted. A steward counted food inventory below, with teenaged boys running around with wooden swords.  _ How can they all be so happy, so careless? _

She scuffled down the steps of the balcony and walked towards the armoury. Dazed, she slumped onto a stall, pulled her sword out of her sheath and began running a whetstone along its edges,even though it was already sharp enough to cut through stone. She pushed down as hard as she could; the aching sensation in her arms helped the aching in her chest seem duller, and any physical discomfort was strangely cathartic to her. A few feet away, a group of soldiers chatted amongst themselves.

“...An’ he’s fucked off now, ‘asen’t he?” 

She began to slow down her movement, listening intently to their conversation.

“What, ya didn’t see it comin’? He ‘as no honour, we all know  that.”

“Aye, he was fucking that tall bitch, right? She’s more a man than woman,maybe ‘e developed unsavoury tastes.” 

The men guffawed, unaware of her presence. She practically steamed with anger.

“Posh cunt. A pray he dies a miserable death, deserves it, he does.”

Before she could check herself, Brienne had grabbed the man by the collar and thrown him against a wall with an audible  _ crack.  _ Blood dripped down his neck and he stared at her with wide, filmy eyes. 

“Dont. You. Fucking. Dare. That man has more honour than all of you combined.” Her grip tightened around his throat, digging into his skin.

He let out a breathless chuckle. “What ya gonna do, kill me?”

“Oh, you don’t think I could?” She squeezed harder. His fat face turned purple, eyes watering, blubbering at her with bloated lips like a fish. His garlicy breath wafted down her throat. With her free hand, she dug her sword dangerously into his abdomen. “In that case, maybe I’m more of a lady than I had thought.”

“Oi, gerroff him!” Another man with a shaggy beard cried. “Or i’ll ‘ave you!”

She smirked and looked at him. “Oh, you think you could? That's sweet. Dying to a lady sounds rather stupid, doesn’t it? Don’t tell yourself it won’t happen.”

He blushed and shifted away. 

The man she was strangling choked. “Milady, please, please, a-”

“Ser Brienne?” 

Immediately, Brienne dropped her sword and turned away.The soldier fell to the floor and scrambled away, gagging. Lady sansa stood before her, an eyebrow raised. Her anger very quickly faded and her face burned, all of a sudden feeling like a disobedient child. 

“Forgive me, my-”

“Save it. There are more pressing concerns. Follow me please.”

She shuffled behind her obediently. As soon as she had walked out of the forge the men laughed uproariously. She gritted her teeth. 

Sansa led her across the courtyard, up a tower to a large, well-lit office on its highest floor. Silver weirwood leaves emblazoned a large oak desk, covered in opened scrolls and various scraps of yellowed paper. 

“I apologise for the mess; it's been a demanding past few weeks.” Sansa gave her a kind smile. A pitiful smile.

“I can imagine, my lady.” Brienne said absently, wringing her hands behind her back, trying to figure out what urgent circumstances under which she has been summoned. Usually Sansa would have discussions with her elsewhere in the castle; she clearly wanted the discussion to remain disclosed between them only, and Brienne guessed and dreaded what she was going to say.

Sansa glided behind the desk and sat in the large chair, her dress fluttering behind her. “Please, sit.”

She lowered into a chair facing the desk warily. Sansa gave her an inquisitive, penetrating look, leaning over her clasped hands. Brienne shifted in her seat. 

Finally, she spoke. “I understand Jaime was never well liked in the North.”

Brienne had almost forgotten the dull ache in her chest, but as soon as Sansa spoke his name, it came back at full force. She bit down hard on her cheeks to stop her face from crumpling up. 

When Brienne didn't respond, Sansa spoke again. “But you always stood up for him, no matter the cost. You always believed in him, and I still don't fully understand why, but I respect you for it.”

Brienne cleared her throat but the lump below her chin wouldn't budge. “I know him. He's a good man.” 

Sansa gave her the same curious look, smiling slightly. She leaned back in her chair. “You're very unusual in that respect. But you also have a very solid judgement. Which is why you're here.”

Brienne felt her heart thumping in her chest. She knew what was coming, but pushed on regardless.

“I'm not sure what you mean, my lady.”

Sansa paused, biting her lip, and softened her voice. “Jaime has been captured by the northern forces on the kingsroad. I don't blame them for not trusting him, but I understand that his task is important. Besides that, with all respects, I'm not entirely sure he'll make the right decisions.”

Brienne's heartbeat was almost deafening now. Sansa continued. 

“I'm asking you to follow him. Talk to Jon, or free him yourself if necessary. Help him in any way you can.”

Brienne opened her mouth to protest but Sansa cut in. “Trust me, I wouldn't do this if it wasn't entirely necessary. I know how hard this is for you, and I'm sorry that I'm saying this, but it's truly a matter of life or death for millions.”

Brienne was silent for a moment. Finally, she bowed her head, and spoke quietly. “As you wish, my lady.” Her entire body was hurting and she felt as if her chest was being crushed, but she worked hard regardless to maintain her despondent demeanour. 

Sansa stood and walked over to her seat. She gently took her hand. “Thank you.” 

Brienne looked up at her with watery eyes that betrayed her. She couldn't bring herself to speak in a voice louder than a whisper. “Excuse me, but may I take my leave now?”

Sansa huffed a kindly chuckle and let go of her hand. “Of course, go ahead.”

Brienne stood up with difficulty and walked towards the door, opening it with a shaky hand. 

“Ser Brienne?”

Brienne turned. 

“Keep yourself alive, will you?”

In truth, she was hoping for quite the opposite, but regardless she gave a stiff smile. “I'll try my best, My Lady.”

She walked out and closed the door behind her. She began down the steps. Images of her bound in front of Jaime, with blood spraying from his throat onto the ground around him, cersei behind him smiling maliciously as the life faded from his eyes intruded her thoughts. Jaime dying was bad enough, but now it was very likely she would have to witness it. She broke into a run, her vision obscured with welling tears, and collapsed onto a door frame towards the ground floor, sobbing and hyperventilating uncontrollably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys if u like this chapter/story (so far) pls leave a comment!! I won't know if this is any good otherwise (plus I need validation lol)


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